


Disillusionment

by jumpingjaxx13



Category: Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Force Survival Guide, Gen, Implied Character Death, M/M, Thrawn and Ezra's Wild Space Adventure, blueberry bonding, but not really, dream team saving wild space, getting the fam back together, he just thinks he's dead, spoilers for Keepsakes in case you're reading that, yuuzhan vong (probably)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13940835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpingjaxx13/pseuds/jumpingjaxx13
Summary: With one door closed, another one opens.The Empire has fallen, the Republic has been born, and the Force is never at rest.((Aka I have no idea how to summarize this because I still don't know where it's going))





	Disillusionment

The moment he gave the order, Thrawn hated himself. It was strategically superb, sure, but morally malicious with the promise to gnaw on his conscience later that night. He knew that the tension would break in a matter of seconds-- he knew Ezra Bridger, and he knew Ezra Bridger’s Lothal; the Lothal that he would sacrifice anything to protect. 

 

A sentiment that he himself could relate to. 

 

By placing himself in Bridger’s position-- by trading the sandy landscape for an icy one and seeing the scrambling populace as his own people-- he could feel their pain. He could remember it.

 

Civilian casualties were a necessary evil. Not one war had passed without an innocent life getting caught in the crossfire, and to assume that he could conduct a battle while defending all those who cannot defend themselves was a hubristic foolishness he could not afford. That didn’t mean that he could not exert every effort to avoid piling up the numbers too high. Batton had been a tragedy on any account with so many unnamed dead, and he had suffered a promotion as a result. He knew what-- knew  _ who _ was to blame,  and even being in her presence made his soul seethe, but her damnation fell short with his victory. On that day, he’d sworn to never let his massacre repeat and take into account every possible twist, turn, and impulse in existence before acting. He needed to know his crew, and he which he knew the best, he needed to send away. To protect him. To defend him.

 

He could not support a regime based solely on subjugation and fear, and if that was what the Empire wanted him to lead, then he feared for his own future as well as the future of others. Stripped of morals, Thrawn could accomplish any great feat-- perhaps, even wield the terror of Project Stardust. He’d hate to become the hand of the devil and level himself with the terroristic heathens he’d fought so hard to subdue. He’d hate for the galaxy to tremble fearfully in his presence. He’d hate to become the tyrannical monster in this story. He’d hate to truly transform into the creature of nightmares that so many had insisted he was. 

 

...But the bombardment continued much longer than he’d anticipated. He stared the boy down as seconds rushed by of their own accord, each awful cry and scream imprinting on his soul. It should have been done by now. Bridger should have broken by now. Almost a full minute had passed, however, and he seemed unwilling to budge in his conflicted horror. Heart climbing into his throat, he soon realized that strategy and morality were once again locked in their own war within him: to continue the bombardment or provide the civilians reprieve? The people of Lothal were not his people by blood, but by association, seeing as their lives rested in the palm of his hand. 

 

There would be another chance to eliminate the rebels, but he could never bring the dead back to life. 

 

His eyes widened a controlled fraction, lips parting to draw in the breath which would induce a ceasefire before Ezra called out “ _Stop!_ _I surrender!”_

 

The world came to a halt, the last shots making their impact and crumbling into silence. The Rebels cut connection to negotiate amongst themselves and prevent Bridger’s ascension, but he knew Ezra Bridger. He knew that he would come regardless. 

 

For his part, Thrawn was relieved. To bring about an end to this conflict without more unnecessary bloodshed was all he could fathom asking for at this point. So potent was this relief that every comment Bridger made bounced off of him effortlessly until he brought him before the Emperor. What did it matter whose artifacts these were? It would all be over soon, and he would return a valiant hero to the Empire with Lothal in his grip. He would, perhaps, gain some more leverage and be able to talk down the horror of Stardust regardless of his friends’ admiration of it. Colonel Veers would be there, too-- his Max never passed up an opportunity to watch him receive the honorable recognition he deserved. Oftentimes, he would mention how much he enjoyed reuniting with Thrawn after one (or both) of them had been in battle, for there was no aphrodisiac quite like staring death in the face and dominating it. Though he’d called the concept silly, he had to admit that there was some merit to it if their passion after Atollon meant anything. 

 

Forbidding himself to sink too deep into fantasy, Thrawn returned to the bridge, looking solemnly down at the destruction surrounding the dome. Bridger’s delay had caused much more damage than he had anticipated dealing out, but it appeared that, at the very least, the majority of casualties had been of property rather than life. That could be easily rebuilt, and he would see to it that it was completed in a timely manner. Slowly, his lips stretched into a slight, thin smile. 

 

For the first time in years, it seemed that a victory was truly that-- a victory.

 

Unfortunately, the universe was rarely so kind and took leagues more than it gave. Only a few perceived moments after his deposit with the emperor, Bridger returned to the bridge with a vengeance, every excuse for devilry at his fingertips and his aura so confidently smug that it coagulated in the very air they breathed. Blaster barrel stared down blaster barrel, distance their only shield as they shuffled along this confrontation. Inwardly, Thrawn cursed, scolding himself for letting his guard drop for even a second. These rebels were a different lot entirely, Bridger even more so than his posse with his recklessness and abominable abilities. To be predictably unpredictable was a curse-- one that, much to his irritation, they both embodied in their own fashion. 

 

_ Predictably unpredictable… _ Thrawn’s stomach twisted as it dawned on him that  _ this _ \-- this lackluster tete-a-tete between two warriors of like mind-- could never be the plan Bridger intended to enact. Nothing he ever did was this predictable and simple… Vermillion eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, noticing how the boy’s own gaze drifted slightly over his shoulder. 

 

It didn’t take long to discover why.

 

The damn things were everywhere. As if the mouth of hell had opened up in the sky, hundreds of Purgills entered the atmosphere, lashing out at fighters and knocking purposefully into ships to make them sway. They didn’t stand a chance against the creatures-- nobody did-- not because they were violent, but because they were impenetrable. Unbreakable. Unmoveable. 

 

Seeing one particular ship of interest sway threateningly, his pulse skipped a handful of beats. Lowering his weapon only slightly, he activated his comm and didn’t bother to hide the urgency in his voice. “Captain Pellaeon, what’s going on?”

 

“ _ We’ve never seen anything like this!” _ Captain Pellaeon cried, voice cracking through the disrupted comm. “ _ It’s… They’re everywhere! I can’t--” _ The line fell dead, the haunting finality drawing Thrawn’s heart into a furious lament. Ezra Bridger had forced him to harm civilians, insulted his art and emperor, and at the very least brought about the harm of a dear friend. Despite his efforts to remain as collected as always, even he could recognize an anger that he couldn’t turn back from. 

 

This time, he raised the blaster higher, aiming for a lethal headshot rather than an incapacitating shoulder wound. Eyes blazing and lip curling up into a snarl, he focused all of his energy into steadying his hand. “Whatever happens now happens to both of us,” he warned, the words hissing between his teeth. At the very least, he would know that any cards they played would deliver a mutual blow and perhaps deter either of them from acting irrationally. Rationality in the face of death was, after all, one way to dominate it. 

 

Yet, to his horror, Bridger smiled. “I’m counting on it,” he replied, the words sending a chill down Thrawn’s spine. Something… Something about this wasn’t right… 

 

Any thoughts which could have put the pieces together all but vanished as nothingness threw him against the wall, his blaster clattering to the ground. His head slammed back against something disturbingly soft that gave under the impact before moving. Countless purple limbs squirmed around his form, claiming his throat, his legs, his arms, his torso, his entire  _ being _ . A panic so potently concentrated that it carried no feeling flashed behind his eyes, consuming his senses, his only comprehensible thought being  _ Out, Out, Out! _

 

Thrawn surged forward, stumbling out of reach of the unforgiving arms and scrambling for his blaster. A shot rang out, the tip of his trigger finger tingling from the vibration and the boy crying out as the heated beam brutalized his shoulder. Such sadism shouldn’t have been nearly so satisfying, but he craved to succumb to violent instinct again and again until every inch of the rebel’s body was charred black. 

 

As fate would have it, he never got the chance. 

 

A hearty, handless shove pushed him back into the range of the awful tentacles which wasted no time in having their way again. They looped around his legs and bound his arms to his sides, constricting with such force that he would surely pop. Muscles flexed and heartbeats hastened, but nothing could resist the hold that was colder than space itself. 

 

_ “I see your defeat, like many arms surrounding you in a cold embrace. ” _

 

Thrawn gnashed his teeth, trying valiantly to thrash his way out of this sentient prison. All logical thought had vanished, reducing him to the single primal instinct of  _ survival _ . 

 

_ Out. _

 

_ Get out.  _

 

_ Let me go. _

 

The damn creature had been right! What an accursed thing-- what an accursed death-- what an accursed defeat! 

 

_ What an accursed breath-- what an accursed life-- what an accursed victory! _

 

Tears prickled in his eyes as struggling met nothing but stagnant defeat. Adrenaline gave way to anguish as time itself seemed to give up on him, rushing faster and lagging behind simultaneously. Every second passed like an eternity, and every eternity passed by in the blink of an eye as if to mock him. Breathing became harder in the grasp of the creatures, prompting his lungs to desperately take in thicker, shallower breaths that went straight to his head. The world around him tipped, and he wasn’t sure if it was the ship rocking with the purgill or his own perception of reality altering. 

 

Somewhere in the white noise of his surroundings, he heard voices calling out for one another, their words incomprehensible to his ears. His pulse protested between his ears as the grip around him grew impossibly tighter--  _ stop, let me out, must get out!-- _ and colors began to dance across his vision. Just as they did, a single word from the fuzz of communication stood out, making his blood run cold:  _ hyperspace. _

 

They were going into  _ hyperspace _ . 

 

Thrawn lolled his head over his shoulder as much as he could, staring at the useless shield of a shattered window through which the purgills claimed their prey.

 

The fear which encompassed him was bone deep.

 

Every nerve in his body died, leaving him numb to the slithering embrace and the gently distressed breeze of Lothal seeping in through the window. His face went slack as his brain short-circuited, exhausted by even the idea of what they were destined to undergo. 

 

Here he was, staring death in the face once again, only this time, he had no cards up his sleeve to slip out of it. 

 

In a way, he supposed that Max was right- staring death in the face was, indeed, an experience unlike any other, for he’d never longed for his lover’s embrace nearly as desperately as he did then. One of the tears that had dared to sting his eyes escaped as he squeezed them closed, fingers curling into fists within their confines as the beasts moaned and the imprints of colors hastened their trek across his vision.

 

“ _ Max…” _ he gasped, voice strained from the dearth of oxygen. With his eyes closed tight, he stared death in the face, just as he had countless times before. This time, however, death looked more like his Max, hand outstretched and charming smile sloping his lips, eyes twinkling with the boyish mischief that had Thrawn falling in love over and over again. 

 

This time, death took the form of a promise he could never resist. 

 

He felt the force of going into hyperspace before any of the effects dawned on him, but the Gs of an unprotected jump did the job well enough. In another world, he could feel the crystals forming on his skin, vision of his beloved slipping away into icy nothingness. 

 

“ _ I’m sorry…” _

 

This time, he succumbed. 


End file.
